Waves of the Mediterranean
by Pan's Veil
Summary: The clash of the Romans and Greek in 200 BC should have involved the gods but not one deity could be found on the field. It was a war controlled by the Heroes. Note: No Slash for some time, Weekly Updates, first fanfic for the author. Rating for violence, and future uses of mild language. See Author profile for news of updates. Beta'ed by Licras. ReWrite of Perseverance.
1. Prologue

Upon the high tides of the Mediterranean floated a broken ship. And upon it, lay a broken man.

_The immensity of nature… incomprehensible… indomitable. Yet, there are those who believe they can impose their virtues and sins and wills on the world around them._

The ship was surrounded by debris of another ship - this one mutilated by the other. The little that was still lying above the surface was a red banner with a golden eagle.

_The Romans dream of conquering both land and sea. Yes, they could conquer the people who claimed mastery over both but subjugating the lands themselves… that is a power belonging only to the gods._

The broken man was surrounded by the aftermath of an uphill battle. In this carnage, there were a group of men whose faces, even in death, showed no emotion.

_Yes, they defeated the Greeks and Carthaginians... but they were unable to learn the secrets of the sea. For all their power, they dared not set sail unless it was an emergency; even then, they prayed to their gods for safe travel._

The other half of the slaughter was a handful of daredevils who looked as if they had not died but merely been sent to another world. One where they finally found peace.

_Yet, despite their fear of the waters, they were able to engage me and annihilate my crew. Just like my friends of ages long gone... all gone. I am, once again, alone with nothing left but my ship in this vast world without… anyone._

The ship was dying, gasping for its last breath. With each shift of the sea, more men slid off the decks into the stormy night.

_Once again, I am alone. Alone in my ship. The ship I can replace. My body, sliced and scarred, I can heal. But my heart and mind broken, I cannot mend..._

The man realized that he needed to break away from this line of thought. So, he did what he had always done to escape reality: jump over the side of the ship in to the water below.

The pale full moon had rose to its zenith. The pitch black water reflected the glory of the moon. He swam, out to the reflection of the moon.

_A clear sea full of stars._

The waves had calmed down as if welcoming the strange man into its depth.

_Where time flows like molten lazule._

The currents and eddies came to a halt as if coddling the man in the arms of the sea.

_Deep blue silence._

Deeper and deeper, the man went as if seeking some treasure at the bottom of the seas.

_Neither is the earth visible below, nor the sky above._

Fish of all colors swam to the man as if seeing their prince for the first time.

_The ocean whispering that only you are here._

The moon withdrew her rays as if desiring to not intrude on the man's privacy.

_Only me, only my lone self._

The sea enveloped him as if he were a boy and it his mother.

_Such loneliness, such solitude, only me._

The boy struggled to hold his breath as if not wanting to leave the inky blackness.

_Yet, in this loneliness, I become aware of my existence._

* * *

><p>*Disclaimer* I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians, the character of Percy Jackson, or the Greek Gods. If I did own the Olympians, it would also own the series... but it is safe for now in the hands of Rick Riordan and whoever Mr. Riordan wishes to share it with.<p>

_AN:_

1. This FanFiction is very different from the original series and most other fics in that the time period is ~200 BC. It will also have no characters from the original series aside from a massively altered Percy. His last name won't even be Jackson.

2. The first ten or so chapters will be focused on Percy before he begins his journey. After that, the adventure will begin in full force.

3. Greek Mythology, late Ancient Greek History, and Early Roman History will be used and referenced with date changes to provide for a better flow.

4. Percy will not be overpowered.

5. I am still a greenhorn in the world of FanFiction. Any Reviews will be very helpful for improving the story.

6. I will be sticking with this story till it becomes complete.


	2. Hunt

Percy stood in a bed of cattails and scanned the sea with a practiced eye. The currents whispered to him that there was a grotto just a dozen meters out and a few feet below the water. Soon, the water would recede with the tide. His target, a water horse with an injured fin, was still with her herd but would take a moment to eat some of the herbs in the cavern. He was amazed that she had made it so far without being eaten by a bigger fish.

The sky was clear and dark, a slight breeze carried the salty scent of the sea. A silvery cloud drifted across the sky that had been clear up till now, its edges glowing with the light cast down from the moon. An ominous mist crept along the surface of the sea, almost thick enough to completely blind him.

Percy was twelve, just shy of reaching thirteen when he could be called a man. Pitch black eyebrows rested above his intense green eyes. His clothes, already cast off in preparation for the dive, were a pure white tunic and chiton. A hunting knife with a bone handle was sheathed in his belt, and a leather sheath protected his sword from the mist.

The hippocampi had led him far away from the inhabited side of Naxos, a large island considered to be center of wealth in the Cretan islands. In mythology, it was considered to be the childhood home of Zeus, along with many other gods and goddesses. Priests claimed that the good fortunes of the island were due to the gods of days long gone blessing the island; the merchants and lords of the island proclaimed it was their economic prowess that sustained Naxos; the native inhabitants were the few that knew the truth and called the island gilded.

It was the seventh night of the hunt, and his desire to ride a hippocampi was at its maxim. If he was not able to secure one, he would be forced to return home empty-handed. He needed to prove that these mythical creatures did indeed exist or he would once again be called the local lunatic.

Percy stood knee-deep in the water with quiet assurance, then swam into the waters towards the grotto where he was sure the injured hippocampi would rest. The cloud now had blocked the moon from the sky and cast a feathery shadow on the preceding waves. He looked at the currents occasionally; he knew the way.

At the grotto, he slid out his knife and held it with a sure touch, and then climbed out of the sea on to the cavern floor. The filtered moonlight revealed 10 or so motionless lumps. The hippocampi he wanted was at the very edge of her herd, her fins streaked with ichor, the immortal golden blood.

Percy crept closer, keeping the knife steady. All his work for the past seven days lead to this moment. All the ridicule he had faced while seeking out these magnificent beasts of the sea lead to this moment. He took a moment to catch his breath-an explosion shattered the peace. The stone keeping the water out of the cavern exploded.

The herd bolted. Percy lunged forward but was swept up by a fiery current rushing around him. He let himself be carried down the cavern along with the hippocampi to where he presumed another exit lay hidden. He was violently expunged from the cavern, now too far from the hippocampi into the darkness of the sea. He cursed and spun, instinctively reaching for the surface.

Behind him, where the solid entrance of the grotto had been, smoldered a large ruin of jagged edges. Much of the water now rushed inside, sealing the cavern forever. _However little, the tides of the Mediterranean have been changed forever_, Percy mused.

Percy swam back to the shore and watched the seas for several long minutes, but the only thing that moved was the mist. Cautiously, he calmed his body after the adrenalin rush and moved forward. Moonlight cast him in a pale shadow as he stopped before the shore. His eyes spied a shiny stone laying a few yards away from him. Nothing seemed out of place, so he warily picked it up.

Nature had never polished a stone so smooth as this one. Its flawless surface was midnight blue, except for thin veins of electric blue that were webbed across it. The stone was cool and frictionless under his fingers, like hardened wool. Rectangular and just over an inch long, it weighed several pounds, feeling heavier than it should have.

Percy found the stone both beautiful and frightening. _Where did it come from? What was its purpose?_ Then a more disturbing thought came to him: _Nature never gives birth to right angles and no human could create such a marvel._ If he had learned anything from the old stories, it was to treat the supernatural with great caution.

_But what should I do with the the stone?_ It would be troublesome to carry with him, and there was a chance it could bring harm. It might be better to leave it behind. An unconscious shudder of indecision ran through him, and he almost dropped it. _It might pay for some coins,_ he decided with a shrug.

The night had now become too cold to stay outside, and the seas more turbulent. He strode further inland and spread his bedroll beneath the upturned roots of a dead tree. After a sparse dinner of bread and cheese, he wrapped himself in blankets and fell asleep, pondering how he would explain his adventure to those back at home.


	3. Apollonas Valley

The sun rose the next morning as a divine inferno of red and pink. The air was fresh, salty, and very humid. The sea crashed upon the shores with a most violent temper, and smaller waves frothed where land met water. After a breakfast of porridge, Percy packed up his makeshift camp. The morning light revealed no mist, and that meant no Hippocampi.

The rough game trail was faintly worn in the grasses of the coast, and in places, non-existent. Because mindless animals had forged it, it often backtracked and took long detours. Yet, for all its imperfections, it was still the fastest way through the Forest of Oizys, named after the goddess of misery.

The Oizys was one of the only places that the Duke of Naxos dared not call his own. Stories were still told about how his army disappeared after training in the ancient forest. Though the trees grew strong and the sky shone brightly under the green canopy, few people ever ventured into the Oizys. Percy was one of those few. He had hiked in the forests for years, yet he was still wary of them. Every time he thought he had gleaned their secrets, something happened to shake his understanding of them. Like the appearance of the legendary Hippocampi on its banks.

He kept up a brisk pace, and the leagues steadily disappeared. In the late evening he arrived at the edge of a ravine. The Nidaros River rushed far below, heading into the Apollonas Valley. Littered with innumerable tiny streams, the river was a willful spirit, clashing against the rocks and boulders that dared block its way. A low rumble filled the air.

He camped a ways from the lip of the ravine and watched the moon rise before slipping into his dreams.

It grew warmer over the next day and a half. Percy traveled quickly and saw little of the wildlife. A bit past noon, he finally heard the Melanes Waterfall stifling everything with the dull sound of thousand splashes. The game trails led him onto a wet rocky outcropping, which the Nidaros rushed past, throwing itself into empty air and down the cliffs.

Before him lay the Apollonas Valley, exposed like an unrolled map. The base of the Melanes, almost half a mile below, was the southernmost part of the valley. A little distance from the base of the falls was Apollonas, a cluster of brown buildings. White smoke rose from black chimneys, a testament to human will. At this height, farms were small patches no bigger than his thumb. The land around them was tan or sandy, where tall wheat swayed in the summer breeze. The Nidaros River twisted from the falls toward the Sapphire Nymph Lake, reflecting the sun in all its majesty. Beyond that, he knew only that it turned east and ran to the sea through the town of Naxos.

Percy took a moment to admire the sheer power of nature which carved the Melanes cliffs before grimacing at the descent. When he arrived at the foot the waterfall, dusk was spreading its hold over everything, blurring colors and shapes into shades of gray. Apollonas' lights shimmered nearby in the twilight; the houses cast long shadows. Aside from Naxos Town, Apollonas was the only village on the entire island. The settlement was secluded and surrounded by harsh, beautiful land. Few traveled here except merchants and hunters. The village was made of wooden log buildings with low roofs. Smoke billowed from the chimneys, allowing him to smell what meats had been captured in the day. The buildings had wide porches where people gathered to talk and conduct business. Percy heard men talking loudly in the evening while wives scurried to fetch their children.

His journey slowed him down, but he was eager to be home, and renewed vigor filled him. The village ended abruptly, and he left its warm lights behind. The pearl moon had started her descent, bathing the land in a pale imitation of sunlight. Everything looked bleached and flat.

Near the end of his journey, the Sapphire Nymph Lake came into view and, on its shore, stood his destination.

The tavern looked like it had seen better days, days that may have been decades ago. Carvings of epic battles and mythic heroes were washed out and had degenerated into formless figures. The shingled roof surrounded a brick chimney, now exhaling the last bits of smoke before dawn. Eaves hung over the whitewashed walls, shadowing the ground below. One side of the enclosed porch was filled with split wood, ready to provide warmth. A jumble of chairs cluttered the other side. A sign post read The Sapphire Nymph Hall.

The hunting lodge had been abandoned by the family for half a century when Fergal had moved to Apollonas. After painstaking effort, and bits of coin that Fergal had left, the dilapidated building had transformed into a decent tavern where he could spend the rest of his days with last of his family.

A hundred feet from the building, in a whitewashed barn, lived a family of horses with chickens and two cows. Sometimes there was also a pig, but Percy guessed the visitors had asked for pork in the few days he had been gone. A wagon sat wedged between the stalls. On the edge of their fields, a thick circle of trees protected a glen spawned of the Nidaros.

The tavern had two well defined stories: one for the people and one for the family. It was ten miles from Apollonas, farther than anyone else's. People had come to consider the the distance dangerous because the family could not rely on help from the village in times of trouble, but Percy's uncle would never listen.

He saw the light move behind a window as he cautiously reached the porch. "Father, it's Percy. Let me in." A small stutter slid back for a second, then the door swung inward.

Myron stood with her hands on the door. An aristocratic face with intense blue eyes gazed out from under his fiery red hair. He looked like royalty, one whose rogue history had not suited the court and ran away to where his wishes were pleased. "Father's sleeping," was his response to Percy's anxious gaze.

The coals of the hearth fire were now emitting their final bursts of red before finally falling to ashen pieces. Rough wooden tables and mismatched chairs littered the tavern floor; last night's visitors had been rowdy indeed. On the far wall was a bar counter, behind it many bottles wine and mead, some hard to come by even in the city. The other walls were a collage of paintings and trophies; some of them so worn and they were indistinguishable from the other.

Percy pulled off his pack and took his dagger and sword. "What's this? The almighty hunter Perseus was unable to collect a few… what is it that you were hunting for?" asked his cousin as he saw nothing in his pack.

Percy took a deep breath before answering. "I went for a swim."

"And you crossed the Oizys for that? I've told you before, I will not accept any lies. I can tell Father that you were out adventuring on some crazy hunt or… or… I can tell him that you were lying to me."

After Marianne had died, her son Myron had become the strict caretaker of the household. He had inherited her mother's looks and her ability to manipulate others. That skill had become very helpful to him in a house where four boys tried to sneak away with one misdeed or another. Percy had hoped that Fergal would be the one to open the door.

Fergal would have just assigned a few more chores to Percy for shirking his duties at the tavern to adventure. Myron would make Percy feel awful for even thinking about leaving the family near harvest and then report his misdeeds to Fergal… who would then proceed to assign more chores. The worst part was that Percy was painfully aware that Myron only did so to make sure that he stayed safe from the more dangerous… things.

"Fine," snapped Percy. "I wasn't swimming in the Nidaros. I trekked across the Oizys to hunt down some hippocampi."

"Hippocampi… hippocampi! What were you thinking listening to Aoidos? Everyone, besides you of course, knows that man is crazy. He can warp truth and facts into something crazier than the myths of the ancient gods. Next thing you know, you will start believing that it is your destiny, as the son of Zeus, to bring fame to your name… listen to me!"

Percy had turned around and just decided to take out the stone he had found. That ought to stop him midway in his rant.

"What… how… who did you steal this from?" asked Myron, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of stone while his fingers moved in a strange twitch.

"I found it… in the Oizys," said Percy. He then explained what had happened.

"How was the weather?" asked his brother, lifting the stone. His hands caressed the surface as if making sure that the stone was not an apparition.

"Warm," Percy said. "It didn't cause too many problems but it did rain a bit."

Myron looked relieved at the news. "Tomorrow you'll have to help everyone finish harvesting the winter barley. If we can get the flax fields ploughed, too, the rain will be a boon to us." He passed the stone to Percy. "Here, keep it. Keep it for now, but don't grow too attached. Selling it is probably the best thing to do. The less we're involved with magic, the better. I'll tell Father about the stone and about your… adventures."


	4. Merchants

When the lazy sun started its climb over the horizon, its rays struck Percy's face and eased him out of his slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he slowly sat up on his bed. The oaken floor was cold under his feet. He massaged his aching back and stretched his sore legs.

Beside the bed was a row of shelves covered with objects that he had collected over the years. Broken shells collected from the Oizys littered the lowermost shelves. Rocks that had broken to reveal shiny interiors and strips of rope that had been tied into naval knots made up the rest. The rest of the room was bare and had bits of paint peeling off the walls. On the nightstand stood his favorite item, a conch horn, with a pattern so intricate that he never tired of looking at it.

He pulled on his clothes, thinking. The rain of last night had now cleaned the tavern, saving him the duty of wiping down the outside. The weather, now turning into a glorious morning with the sun shining through the last of the grey clouds, brought him into a pensive state.

It was very near this hour, about thirteen years ago, Fergal had almost given up hope. His father Charis had become a shell of the noble that he used to be, brought into a state of depression with the deaths of his younger son, his daughter-in-law, and his own wife. By the time Fergal had returned from his mandatory service in the Athenian army, he found his father in the graveyard in an edifice just like the tombs he had spent his last days with.

The Great Storm-Quake of 234 BC had been devastating all over the world. Any person out sailing, on trireme or a raft, had drowned in the violent storms while those on the ground had fallen to their own homes fell by earthquakes. Charis and his family had been just another casualty to the wrath of nature.

Fergal's own past haunted him; his deeds as a soldier would remain imprinted on his heart far deeper than any healer could heal. It was in the aftermath of the tempest, both personal and natural, that Fergal took a long walk near the sea, hoping any one of the waves would overtake him and claim his life. He had a wife, a daughter and a baby boy, but he could not bring himself to care.

It was in this moment of despair that the sea came back to life in a violent manner as if it would destroy what it had not already made into rubble. His sharp eyes were able to spy a piece of dark wood riding the crest, threatening to capsize any moment. But it did not sink.

As the swell came closer to the shore it decreased in size rapidly, till it was nothing more than froth, still bearing the cradle. After it gently laid the treasure on the beach, it receded just as quickly as it had arrived.

Percy still remembered how he had felt when Marianne had told him the story before she died. The realization that Fergal and Marianne were not his parents had disturbed him greatly. Things that had been unquestionably were suddenly thrown into doubt. Eventually Percy had learned to live with it, but he always had a desire to seek out where he came from. _I'm sure the gods had a good reason for what they did; besides, the way the sea was, I could just as easily be Roman as I am Greek. It would be impossible to find my blood relatives._

One other thing bothered him: Who was his father? Percy wished that he knew who it was, if only to have a second name. It would be nice to know his heritage.

He sighed and went to the nightstand, where he splashed his face, shuddering as the water trickled down his neck. Refreshed, Percy retrieved the stone from under the bed and set it on a shelf. The morning rays of the sun stroke it, throwing a tantalizing blue shadow on the wall. He touched it one more time, then hurried to the dining hall, eager to see his family. Fergal and his four brothers were already there, eating chicken. As Percy bade them a good morning, his older brothers stood with a grin.

Draco was five years older than Percy, muscular, sturdy and careful with his movements. They could not have been closer even if they had been real brothers.

Siarl and Kiarl, twins, had a devilish look about them and were always up for mischief with their younger brother.

Draco smiled. "I'm glad that you were able to survive your swim in the Nidaros."

Siarl started, "Didn't you know… he did go for a swim, "

Kiarl finished, "but in the sea past the Oizys!"

Percy grimaced. He had thought Myron would at least spare him the glare of Draco and Fergal, but he guessed it would have been too merciful.

"Didn't Myron tell you what happened?" Percy helped himself to a bit of the chicken, which he devoured hungrily. _There, that should shift some of the blame off of me to that evil tyrant._

"No," replied all four, and the story was quickly told. At Siarl's insistence, Percy left his breakfast to show them the stone. This evoked a satisfying amount of awe, but Fergal was quick to reply, "Better not get to used to it, Percy. When the traders come, we will have it sold. The less we do with magic and the like, the better off we are."

They returned to their meals in the taciturn presence of Fergal. When they had devoured the last few bites, all four went to work in the fields. The sun was warm and bright, providing little comfort. Under its watchful eye, the last of the winter barley was stored in the barn. They soon gathered mints and herbs as well as the rutabagas, beets, peas, turnips, and beans which were stored in the cellar. After a few hours of labor, they stretched their sore muscles, pleased that their harvests were finished. Afterwards, Fergal and his sons had finished setting the tavern for another night of entertainment.

The following days were spent getting the fields plowed and seeded to get a head start for the coming storms.

A week after Percy's return, a vicious storm blew out of the seas and settled over the valley. The tempest stormed for many days, blanketing the countryside in shades of grey. They only left the house for firewood and to feed the animals, for they had plenty on their hands as the visitors to the taverns had increased in number.

"I'm afraid the traders may not come within the next few months, with the harvest not yet started and roads in terrible condition," said Fergal. "They're late as it is. We'll have to give them a chance and wait before going to Apollonas. But if they don't show soon, we'll have to make do with any spare supplies in the town."

They grew anxious as the days crept by without even a whisper of the traders. Talk was sparse, and even the twins seemed depressed.

On the eighth morning, Myron walked to the road and confirmed that the traders had not yet passed. The day was spent readying for the trip into Apollonas, scrounging for anything that may come of use. That evening, out of desperation, Percy checked the roads again. He found deep tread marks and a few hoof prints between them. He ran back to the house, with fervor unseen in anybody but Kiarl and Siarl, breathing new life into the family.

They packed whatever surplus the bounty had yielded, and the few miscellaneous trinkets that Kiarl and Siarl picked from unsuspecting drunkards. into the wagon before sunrise. Fergal put the year's money in a leather pouch that he carefully fastened to his tunic. Percy wrapped the stone and never let it leave is hands so it would not fall from when the wagon hit bumps.

After a rushed breakfast, they harnessed the horses and blazed a path from their fields to the road. The traders' wagon had already left a trail to follow, which hastened their progress. By morning, Apollonas was visible.

In daylight, it was a small earthy village filled with sounds of laughter and shouts. The traders had made a camp in an empty field on the outskirts of town. Groups of wagons, tents, and campfires were spread across it, spots of bright colors against the earthy greens of early summer. The minstrels tents were garishly decorated and harshly reflected the light of the sun. A steady stream of people formed a bridge between the camp and the village.

Crowds churned around a line of bright tents and booths, clogging the main street. Horses and other beasts of the farms whinnied at the noise. The spices and herbs of the merchants from Naxos added a rich aroma to the smells wafting around them.

Fergal parked the wagon and picketed the horses, then withdrew some coins from his pouch. "Get yourselves some treats. Myron, Draco, Skiarl and Kiarl, do what you want but spread the word of the _Sapphire Nymph Hall_ and discount ale, only be at the wagon before the sun touches the horizon. Aspasia, take your sisters and buy yourselves whatever you please. Percy, bring the stone and come with me." Percy grinned at Skiarl and Kiarl while he pocketed his money.

The twins departed immediately with a determined expression in their faces. Percy broke out into a smile as he knew that the two had their eyes on a set of twin girls from town and would most definitely waste their money on something for them. Fergal led Percy into the hustle and bustle, shouldering his way through the crowd. Women were eyeing jewelry and cloth while their husbands examined tools. Children ran free and wild, hollering with excitement. Herbs were sold here, pots were laid there, and coins were exchanging hands everywhere. Meanwhile, Fergal pushed down the street searching for Agaue, a trader who specialized in trinkets and pieces of jewelry.

They found him behind a stall, displaying brooches to a group of women. As each new piece was revealed, he used his silver tongue to enchant the crowd. Agaue seemed to flourish and swell with pride at each exclamation of admiration. Decked in fine robes and wearing a goatee, he held himself with ease, and seemed to regard himself a touch above the village folk. Percy was sure that quite a few purses would soon be empty.

The excited group seemed to bar Percy and Fergal from gaining an audience with Agaue, so they sat down on a nearby step and waited. As soon as Agaue seemed to be unoccupied, they hurried over.

"And how may I help you today Fergal?" asked Agaue. "I'm sure that trinkets and brooches are not what you are looking for." With a twirl he pulled out a delicately carved dagger of excellent craftsmanship. The polished metal caught Percy's attention, and he eyed it appreciatively. "Not even three denarii, though it came the famed smiths of Kalkeus."

Fergal spoke with a soft voice. "I hardly ever look to buy, but to sell." Agaue immediately replaced the dagger and looked at them with new interest.

"I see. Maybe, if this item happens to be of any value, you would like to trade it for a few of these exquisite pieces." He paused for a moment when both Percy and Fergal stood uncomfortably. "You did bring this object with you?"

"We have it, but I would rather share it in privacy," said Fergal with a firm voice.

Agaue raised an eyebrow, but spoke as smooth as ever. "In that case, follow me to my tent." He gathered his merchandise and gently laid them in an iron bound chest which was promptly locked. Then he quickly ushered them into his tent. It was crimson at the top and beige at the bottom, with a thin triangles of gold and red stabbing into each other. Agaue untied the opening and swung the flap open.

Small trinkets and strange furniture, such as rounded beds and seats carved from stumps, filled the tent. A gnarled sword with a sapphire in the pommel rested on a white cushion.

Agaue closed the flap behind them. "Please, seat yourselves." When they had, he said, "Now show me why we are meeting in my private camp." Percy gently unwrapped the stone and set it between the two men. Agaue reached for it with a glint in his eye, then stopped to ask, "May I?" As soon as Fergal tilted his head forward, Agaue picked it up. He put the stone in his palm and reached for a balance. After weighing the stone, he tapped it gently with a wooden mallet, and drew the point of a clear diamond over it. He measured its length, breadth, and depth. He considered the results for a while. "Do you know what it's worth?"

"No," admitted Fergal.

Agaue grimaced. "Unfortunately, neither do I. But I can tell you this much: the light blue veins are the made of the same thing that surrounds them. What the material, is I don't know. It's harder than any rock that I have seen, even the diamond that I used to test it before. Whoever shaped it used tools and materials that I have never seen… or magic."

Fergal crossed his arms with a reserved expression. A wall of silence surrounded them. Percy was puzzled. _I knew that the stone was probably placed in the Oizys by those not human, but made by magic? What is its purpose?_ He blurted, "But what is it worth?"

"I can't tell you that," said Agaue in a pained voice. "I am sure that there are people who would pay dearly to have it, but none of them in Apollonas or maybe even Naxos. You would have to go to Greece or one of the southern lands to find a buyer. This is a curiosity for most people, not an item to spend precious denarii when practical things are needed."

Fergal stared at the tent ceiling like a gambler calculating the odds. "Will you buy it?"

The trader answered instantly, "It's not worth the risk. I might be able to find a wealthy buyer in my spring travels, but I can't be certain. Even then, you would have to wait till next summer for your money for I won't be paid until then. I am curious, however… why did you insist on meeting in private?"

Percy put the stone away before answering. "Because," he glanced at the man, wondering what his reaction would be, "I found this in the Oizys and folks of this island don't like that."

Agaue game him a startled look. "Do you know the meaning behind the name of that accursed forest?"

Percy shook his head.

"The entire world that is around you has already been explored and conquered by the ancients. And they in turn were able to name everything. Surely you've heard of the myths of the elder god of creation Khaox and the god of Nyx, where you get the name of Naxos. But what you may not have heard is one of Nix's daughter, Oizys. Her life was tragic as any of the children of the elders, and her power was Misery. I had heard tales of strange things, but put them out of my mind considering I would never come across them in Apollonas. But here I am, in front of something whose value cannot be estimated after my decades of experience in the mines and the routes of commerce but only by tales of the troubadours. I will warn you however. No one knows why these rocks came into being or how, except they bring some form of misery to the discoverer. Worst of all are reports of monsters coming back from both the dead and mythology, though such stories are unconfirmed."

"Why haven't we heard of this?" cried Percy.

"Because," Agaue said grimly, "it only began a few months ago. Whole villages have been forced to move because these mythical beasts destroyed their fields and starvation threatens."

"Nonsense," growled Fergal. "I haven't seen any beasts aside from the cow and the horse. The last of the kind that you talk of was defeated by the end of the Great Storm-Quake."

Agaue arched an eyebrow. "Maybe so, but this small village is hidden by the mountains and the monstrosity of town Naxos. It's not surprising that you've escaped notice. However, I wouldn't expect that to last. I only mentioned this because strange things are happening here as well if you found such a stone in the Oizys." With that sobering statement, he bid them farewell with a bow and a sardonic smile.

Fergal headed back to his wagon with Percy trailing behind. "What do you think?" asked Percy.

"I'm going to get more information before I make up my mind. Take the stone back to the wagon, then do what you want. Inform Myron to take the carriage home and I will arrive home by opening time with Morn."

He walked from one booth to another stall, evaluating the goods with a buyer's eye, despite his meager supply of coins. When he had talked with the traveling bards and dancers, they confirmed Agaue's report on the instability. Time again and again, the message was repeated: last year's security has deserted us; new dangers have awakened; nothing is as safe as it was. _At least I convinced them to stop at the tavern for tonight._

Later in the day, he bought a few sticks of candy and a small blueberry jamboree. The cool dessert food felt refreshing after hours of standing in the sun. He licked the sticky syrup from his fingers regretfully, wishing for more, then sat on the edge of a porch.

As the day became late afternoon, the trader's started traveling door to door. Percy now joined up with his brothers and headed to the tavern. Myron had informed him that a few troubadours would come out and tell stories while performing tricks, all for a "glimpse at the lass with fiery hair". Percy snickered when he realized that Aspasia would most definitely stay away from them.

The troubadours would tell their stories from either history of the ancients or the stories of the gods, and, if he were especially lucky, the Heroes. Apollonas had its own storyteller, Rapsodos (a friend of Percy's), but his tales grew old over the years whereas the traveling bards always had a new one that he listened to so eagerly.

Percy had just broken off a twig off the underside of a tree when the _Sapphire Nymph Hall_ came into view. From the raucous laughter he could already hear, Fergal must have showed up early and Morn must be creating some of his more potent concoctions.

The inside was hot and filled with greasy smoke from tallow candles already turned midgets. _I suppose I will have to go around and replace them if Myron is in charge today._ The bar was long and low, with a stack of staves on one end for paying customers to carve. Morn tended the bar, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. The bottom half of his face was short and mashed, as if he had used a grinding wheel as a pillow during one of his drunken escapades. People crowded solid oak tables and listened to two traders who had finished their business early and come for some ale.

Morn looked up from a mug he was cleaning. "Percy! So good to see you. Where are your brothers?"

"They just went to the kitchen to talk to Fergal," said Percy. "They may be a while."

"And Skiarl and Kiarl, are they here?" asked Morn as he swiped the cloth through another pitcher.

"Yes, no ladies tonight to keep them up all night."

"What about the twin girls they had set their eye on?"

"You mean Acantha and Alla? The twins gave them both daisies but they would not accept anything less than a rose. Honestly, I think they are playing hard to get. Everyone falls to Skiarl's and Kiarl's charms eventually and they are not an exception."

At this, Morn let out a deep chuckle. Percy gestured at the two traders. "Who are they?"

"Grain buyers. They bought everyone's seed at outrageously low prices, and now they're telling wild stories, expecting us to believe them."

Percy understood why Morn was so upset. _Apollonas needs that money. We can't get by without it._ "What kind of stories?"

Morn snickered. "They say that the Romans have formed a pact with the monsters of days old and are amassing an army to attack us. Supposedly, the only reason we haven't been slaughtered is through the grace of King Philip up in Greece and Duke Naxos… as if either of them would give a rat's arse if we burned to ashes. Go listen to them. I have enough on my hands mixing drinks without explaining their lies."


	5. Olympian Tales

The first trader filled a chair with his massive size; his every motion caused ripples across it. There was no hint of hair on his face and his pudgy hands were smooth-a sure sign of not a single day's worth of hard labor. The second man had a healthy face but the rest of his body was unnaturally thin.

The first trader pointlessly tried to pull back his growing borders to fit in the dimensions of the chair. He said, "No, no, no. You don't understand. It is only through the king's unending efforts on your behalf that you are able to argue with us in safety. If he, in all his grace, were to abandon his efforts, a misery deeper than any would befall unto you!"

Someone hollered, "Right, why don't you also tell us that the gods have restored their council and you personally slew a hundred Nemean Lions. Do you think we're children to believe in your fancy tales? We can take care of ourselves." The group chuckled. _That man deserves a drink._

The trader started his reply when a jeweled hand waved for him to stop jiggling his fat cheeks. The second trader responded, "You misunderstand. We know the Kingdom cannot take care of each of us personally, as you may want, but it can keep monsters, Romans, and other abominations from overrunning this… place."

The trader continued, "You are angry with the Kingdom for treating you unfairly. A legitimate concern. But no one, not even the king, can please everyone. There will, by the decree of human nature, be arguments. However, the majority of us have nothing to complain about. Every country has a small group of malcontents who aren't satisfied with the status quo."

"Yeah," called out a woman. "if you're willing to call the Pirates small!"

The fat man let out a belch. "We already explained that the Pirates have no interest in helping you. They are only a falsehood perpetuated by the traitorous rebels in an attempt to disrupt the affairs of the Kingdom and convince us that the real threat is internal, not external. All they want to do is overthrow the king and take possession of your land. They have spies everywhere as they prepare to invade. You never know who might be work for them."

Percy did not agree but the trader's silver tongue had entranced the crowd, some were even nodding. He stepped forward and said, "How do you know this? I can say that the clouds are made of diamonds but that doesn't mean its true. Prove it. Prove that you aren't lying." The two men glared at him while the villagers awaited a response.

The thin trader spoke first. He made visible effort to avoid Percy's eyes. "Aren't your children taught manners? Or do you let little boys challenge men whenever they want to?"

The listeners fidgeted and stared at Percy. Then Morn said, "Answer the question."

The fat one's lip quivered and sweat ran down his face. "It's only common sense." This riled the villagers, and the dispute continued.

Percy returned to the bar with a sour taste in his mouth. He had never anyone who had so strongly favored the Kingdom and tore down its enemies. Their hatred for the Empire ran deep in the blood of Apollonas' villagers; so thick was it that it was almost hereditary in nature. The Kingdom had never helped them during cold and harsh years when they nearly starved and its tax collectors were just as heartless. He felt justified in disagreeing with the traders regarding the king's so called mercy, but he also speculated about the Pirates.

The Pirates were a rebel group that constantly roamed the high seas and attacked the Kingdom's ships. It was a mystery to how they were run, or if there was even any organization to them. The group had grown to include men and women, scholars and soldiers, civilians and criminals all the while eluding the King's efforts to destroy them. Little was known about them aside from their prowess on the Mediterranean. No one even knew how to find them.

Morn leaned over the bar and said, "Incredible, isn't it? They're worse than hyena circling a wounded animal. There most definitely will be trouble if they overstay their welcome."

"For them or for us?"

"Them," said Morn as angry voices filled the tavern. Percy left when the argument threatened to become violent. Myron, Kiarl, and Skiarl would keep and attentive eye over who damaged what and ensure that whoever caused any violence to the establishment paid their due.

When dinner was finally over and Fergal rolled out the desserts, the guests left the tavern and strolled to the the lake, near where the traders had set up camp for the night. Bonfires blazed in the summer midnight casting dancing shadows on to the fields. The villagers slowly gathered around the circle and waited expectantly under the moonlight.

The troubadours came tumbling out of their tents dressed in flamboyant clothes, followed by the older and more stately minstrels. The minstrels provided the score and narration while their younger counterparts acted out stories. The first plays were pure entertainment: racy, bawdy, full of jokes, pratfalls, caricatures, and ridiculous characters. Later, when the candles sputtered their last breaths and everyone had drawn together in a tight circle, the old storyteller Rapsodos stepped forward. A gnarled white beard rippled over his chest and a long black cape wrapped around his bent shoulders, hiding his body. He spread his arms with hands that reached out to the heavens and recited:

"The waves of time are ever in motion. Minutes, hours, days, years, and millennia pass whether we want it… or not. What has been lost in paper, may live on through memories. That which those tell you is marred with flaws, yet cherish it. For now, without you, it will cease to exist. I tell you now such a memory that has been forgotten by most and hidden by the few."

His sharp eyes examined their faces. His sharp gaze brought to life even the intoxicated.

"Before your father's grandfather took their first steps, even before their grandfathers, the Hero Alexander ruled. To expand his power was his mission… to empower Greece was his dream. For years, his sword and pen he succeeded. His military might and mental fortitude was unmatched, for he had the power of hundreds of men in his smallest finger. He was a Hero, the son of Zeus. While he kept the peace, the land flourished. It was a golden era. The Persians were conquered, and the Far Easterners our fiends. Wealth flowed into our cities, and Greeks prospered. But mourn that day… for it could not last."

Sadness unending reverberated his voice.

"Though no enemy could destroy him, he could not guard against the mortal weakness: death. And, on his way to his throne and unborn heir, he passed away in the Hanging Gardens just five centuries and twelve years from today. The lord of the sky used all the power he had in him to revive his son, but it was too late. The Great had been conquered by that which no man escapes.

"His lands were divided with the promise that his heir, should his wife give birth to a son, would take control. On the day of that birth, the day that even the immortals flocked to Veroia, tragedy befell the house of Alexander in his very birthplace. His heir was a girl, and sly Ptolemy engineered a contract between the daughter-ruler of Alexander and his own son not even two years of age taking the throne for himself. Cassander, the Scion of Xerxes the Tyrant of Persia and the Offspring of Nemesis, used the ensuing havoc to carve away kingdom of sand from the empire. Wise Lysimachus, the chosen charioteer of Alexander and the son of Ares, heard of the plot on his life and headed to the Nile where he too, created his own dynasty.

"So it was that soon after the death of Alexander, the mortals had already been divided among childrens of the gods."

The aged storyteller clasped his hands and looked slowly around. Light and shadow engaged in a struggle across his worn face.

"Enraged, the cruel trick played by the Fates and grieving for his lost son, Zeus swore upon the River Styx to never sire another mortal child. Looking upon the history of our world to date, he also chose to pledge, upon the same cursed river, that no Olympian under his power would ever breed another demigod. Their lives were tragic beyond compare, and more often ended before they could begin.

"He found many a sympathetic deities. Many had lost their kith and kin to the battle of the new Hellenistic Kingdoms. By the use of persistent reasoning and the use of his dark power, he inflamed the gods to repeat his pledge on the Styx. All but two abstained: Poseidon and Hades. To truly understand the brothers of Zeus, you must first see the Olympians. Of the many that lived on the sacred grounds of Olympus, Poseidon spent his days with sea while Hades had been forced into exile for all but one day.

"On that day, the Winter Solstice, Zeus issued his proclamation that all the Heroes were to be immediately sent to Morpheus for the rest of eternity and never would any immortal sire another demigod. Poseidon and Hades, estranged from the recent happenings on Mt. Olympus, protested fiercely but the other Olympians, aside from the homely Hestia, passed the proclamation into divine law.

"The incensed brothers of land and sea called and ancient law from the era of the Elder of Time, Kronos, into effect: the law of Titans. The law called for the eldest generation, the sons of Kronos to vote upon the actions of the Olympians. To either accept the law and write it in the annals of Time or to destroy its existence, going so far as to purge its memories from all beings.

"In the ruins of Mt. Etna, met the original Olympian six. Zeus took his place on the broken throne of his father. Poseidon warily seated himself on the cracked seat of Ouranos. Hera dusted off the throne of Rhea and sat down. Hades settled on the recliner of Lelantos. Chiron chose the throne of Prometheus. Hestia, cold without her hearth fire, sparked a small flame in the center of the children of Cronus and tended to it.

"For days, the Olympians debated. The memory and the story of the event has been lost to the passage of time and nature… The tainted powers of Mt. Etna killed any who ventured near the historic council. All that is known is that exactly three years after Hestia sparked a small flame, Chiron came dashing out of the mountain, and disappeared into lands unknown while the rest of the original six descended the mountains in two groups. Down the north side was Zeus, along with a stony-faced Hera, a fierce Demeter clad in battle armor, and a mournful Hestia, whose tear drenched the violent volcano of Mt. Etna to eternal sleep. Down the south side was Poseidon and Hades, both in their immortal forms killing any mortal within five leagues. Beyond this, no human ever heard whispers nor saw the whiskers of the divine till the famed Civil Olympian War of 500."

With the completion of the story, Rapsodos shuffled away from the minstrels. Percy would later swear that he saw a tear shining on his cheek.

People murmured quietly to each other as they departed for the night. Fergal said to his kids, "Consider yourselves fortunate. I have only heard this tale only twice in my life. If any of the Three Kings knew that Rapsodos had recited it, he would die a most miserable death."


	6. Transformation

The midnight following Rapsodos' story, Percy decided to test the stone as Agaue had. Alone in his room, he set it on his bed and laid three "tools" next to it. He started with a wooden hammer and smashed the stone with it. It produced a subtle ringing. Grinning, he picked up the next tool, a heavy leather-bound axe. A sorrowful tone reverberated when it struck. Lastly, he slashed a heavy steel broadsword upon it. The metal shattered upon contact, and an unnoticed shard drew blood from his hand. Cursing at the stone's invulnerability, he struck it with his hand; it produced a warbling tune reminiscent of a naughty sea shanty.

_Agaue had said the stone was one he had never seen before; there could be something of value to it. I don't know what it may be or what purpose it served, though._ _There must have been a significant purpose for someone to shape it so, but whoever sent the stone into the Oizys hasn't taken the trouble to retrieve it or doesn't know where it is. So was I meant to have it? _He could not answer these questions. Resigned with another unsolvable mystery, he gathered the tools and returned the stone to the shelf. _I wonder how long it will take Fergal to realize on of his broadswords is missing._

That night he was abruptly roused from his slumber. He listened carefully. All was quiet. Uneasy, Percy slid his hand under the pillow and grasped his knife. He waited a few minutes, then slowly sank back to his sleep.

A scratch pierced the silence, tearing him back into reality. He scrambled out of bed and yanked the knife from its sheath. Fumbling with a torch, he lit a candle. The door and window to his room were bolted. Though the scratch was too loud for a rodent, he still checked under the bed. Nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes. Another scratch filled the air, and he started violently.

_Where is this god-forsaken noise coming from? _Nothing could be in the floor nor the walls; they were solid wood and, in some places, metal. The same went for his bed, he would have most definitely felt it if something chose to crawl to his woefully thin mattress at night. His gaze settled on the stone. He took it off the shelf and ran his fingers over the warm stone. _WARM STONE?!_ Then it gave off a very loud scratch and fell silent, as if goading him to try something. _God-damned stone, and its god-damned invincibility to mortal metals. _Whatever secret the stone held within its strange carvings would have to wait until the morning.

The moon was shining through his window when he came to again. The stone was shaking violently on the shelf knocking against the wall. It looked as if it were absorbing the moonlight, but it did not reflect any in turn. Percy jumped out of the bed, knife in hand once again. The motion stopped but he remained alert. Then the stone started shaking and emitting harsh notes faster than ever.

With a few curses, he began dressing. He did not care how valuable the stone might be; he was going to take it far away and chuck it into the sea. The scratching stopped, the stone stilled. It trembled, then tumbled forward and dropped onto the floor with yet another loud scratch. Then, it slowly started wobbling towards him and he went for the door in alarm.

Suddenly a pure note warbled into the air. Followed by a ray of blue light. Then another note, then another ray. Entranced, Percy leaned forward, still holding the knife, albeit lightly. At the stop of the stone, where all the rays had gathered, a small piece vibrated as if all the stress had come together at one place, then rose and sunk. Another series of notes formed a haunting melody, and all the veins started shifting across the surface. Percy gripped the knife tighter and held very still. Soon, the notes had formed a tune so haunting and melancholy that a tear streaked down Percy's face. It landed on the stone and the stone now also gave off sounds reminiscent of a warm summer's day on the beach. It stayed in place for a moment, then all the veins coalesced inside the stone before reappearing in ancient runes.

Percy recoiled in shock. Resting in front of him was a perfect map of the Cretan islands, and the words engraved at the top were **The Gift of the Earth to the Sea **and **Blood of Poseidon**.


	7. Tea

At dawn, Percy and his brothers parted at the outskirts of Apollonas. They wanted to spend some time with the traders and the townspeople while watching the re-enactments of the Olympiamachy but Percy wanted to learn more about the stone he had gotten. So he went to the man that had known the beginning of the heavenly war when no one else had: Rapsodos. He trotted slowly to Rapsodos' house, engrossed in his thought. He halted at the doorstep and raised a hand to knock.

A voice grated his ears with its raspiness, "What do you want, boy?"

He spun around to face the voice. Behind him Rapsodos leaned on a twisted stave gnarled with age and carved with runes. He wore a green hooded robe like a healer. A pouch hung from his worn leather belt enveloped around his waist. Above his white beard, a sharp nose hooked over his mouth. He peered at Percy with his deep brown eyes shadowed by twisted brows and waited for his reply. _No surprise his voice is sore… Fergal said that he had been up all night narrating the beginning of the Olympiamachy._

"To get some information," Percy said. "Draco and the others are listening to the bards and the minstrels and I had free time, so I came to see if you could answer a few of my questions."

The old man grunted in response and reached for the door. Percy noticed a solid gold ring on his left hand. Light glinted off the ruby, highlighting the horn and the bow carved on its face. "You might as well come in. We'll be talking a while; you are a fountain of questions."

Inside, the house was darker than a new moon midnight, an acrid smell heavy in the air. "Now, some light." Percy heard the old man bumble around, then a soft curse as something crashed to the floor. "Ah, here we go." A white spark flashed; a flame flickered into being.

Rapsodos stood with a candle before the stone fireplace. Stacks of scrolls and leather-bound books surrounded a high-backed, deeply carved wooden chair that faced the hearth. The four legs were twisted into hooves of a horse, the seat and back were padded with leather embossed with a feathered pattern. A cluster of smaller chairs held piles of scrolls. Ink pots and quills were scattered across a desk. "Make room for yourself, but by the lost Olympians, be **careful**. This stuff is valuable."

Percy stepped over the pages of parchments littered with foreign runes. He gently lifted crackling scrolls off a chair and placed them onto a rug. A haze of dust flew into the air as he sat.

Rapsodos bent down and lit the fireplace with his candle. "Good! Nothing like sitting by an open flame for conversation." He threw back his hood to reveal silver hair then hung a teapot over the flames and settled into the high-backed chair.

"Now, what information do you seek?" He asked Percy roughly, but not meanly.

"Umm…" started Percy, pondering how best to approach the subject of his stone and its connection to Poseidon. "I keep hearing about the brothers Poseidon and Hades and their supposed dark history. Most everyone seems to hate them and ignore the two for their younger brother, Zeus. But I've never heard tales of where they came from, what their life was, or even what happened to them after the Olympiamachy- aside from having powers of the Earth and the Sea."

"A vast subject to tell about," grumbled Rapsodos. He gazed at Percy. "If I were to tell you their whole story, we would still be sitting here till the time you take your last breath. It will have to be reduced to a finite length. But, before I start properly, I need my pipe."

Percy waited impatiently as Rapsodos tamped down the tobacco. He like the old man. Rapsodos was irritable at times, but he always made time for Percy. Percy had once asked where he hailed from, and Rapsodos had laughed, saying, "A time much like this one, a village much like Apollonas but more chaotic and far less civilized." Curiosity killed the cat, but couldn't slay Percy. He asked Fergal for whatever his uncle knew of the old man. But all Fergal could tell Percy was that old man had arrived to Apollonas before Fergal and lived quietly; aside from the stories he told that were often forbidden by the king.

Rapsodos used a tinderbox to light the pipe. He puffed a few times, then said, "There… now I won't have to stop, except for the tea. Now, about the brothers, Poseidon and Hades, as they are known to us mortals as. Where to start? They spanned countless years, from the death of the Titan Kronos to the age of Alexander. At the heights of their power, every mortal made sacrifices to Poseidon whenever they went on a voyage and prayed to Hades for their departed loved ones. Countless stories have been spread about them, most nonsense. If you were to believe in a handful, and depending on the handful you chose, they were traitors to the Olympians and servants of the Primordials or not even a lesser god daring to strike against the might of Zeus. But the task is not so difficult if we confine ourselves to your questions: their birth, their domain and roles in the ancient world, and their aftermath. I shall start with the first and work my way down through the last item."

Percy settled back into the chair and found himself snared by the man's mesmerizing voice.

"Poseidon and Hades were born to Rhea and her brother Kronos, as one of the first children of the Titans, though what they represent - the sea and the earth - have no beginning. And if either have an end, it will be when the world perishes for they suffer as their domains weaken. They, the Olympians, and a few others are the true rulers of this land. They lived and tamed it before all others, even before Prometheus gave the fire to the long gone people of Mesopotamia. Their world was unchanging until the first Greeks created their abodes on the foot of Mount Olympus."

"Where did the Greeks come from? I know they were given the fire of civilization by Prometheus," interrupted Percy. "And, if so, where they at all related to the Mesopotamians? And did Prometheus really suffer the punishment for allowing man to evolve?"

Rapsodos scowled. "Do you want your original query fulfilled or not? It won't be if you want to explore every bit of obscure knowledge."

"Sorry," Percy apologized. He really wanted to know everything he could and wondered if his original quest of learning about the stone could be worth the answer to the origin of the Greeks…

"No, you're not," said Rapsodos. He shifted his gaze to the fire and watched it caress the underside of the kettle. Despite his tone, his lips contort into a smirk. "If you must know, although Greeks and Mesopotamians had the same origin, they were as related as you and I. Prometheus did suffer for his actions; not because of helping mankind but for the harm fire could bring if in the wrong hands.

"Now," he wiped the amusement from his face and glared at Percy ensuring no more interruptions. "As the Titans had killed their parents, the Primordials, before them the Olympians followed suit. Zeus, favored by Rhea, led the campaign and, with the support of his siblings, killed Kronos. Hestia, Demeter, and Hera were unconcerned about the future as long as each had what they wanted. For Hestia, it was a small hearth flame; for Demeter, it was a farm; and for Hera, it was a marriage with Zeus. Each were granted their wishes but the brothers were far more ambitious: each wanted dominion over the world and were willing to fight for it. Rhea stepped in and asked them to split the world that rightfully belonged to them. She told them to leave their fortunes to the fates: one would rule all under the earth, the other would control the tides of the sea, and the last would reign over the sky and the other two. Rhea, still favoring her youngest, used a favor she had obtained from the last Primordials, the Fates, to grant the sky to Zeus. Poseidon received the sea and Hades the Earth. She gave her son Chiron power over nature, which he immediately gave over to his cousin Pan.

"Hades and Poseidon were proud, and strong with their powers sometimes exceeding Zeus. They treated both Zeus and his children as part of a separate world, one where they only visited when required by the 'Olympian Council'. From that belief rose a deadly mistake. While Poseidon build a family and a kingdom for himself in the deep seas and Hades the same in his own realm, both made use of mortals and their sired demigods to fill up their lands and their hearts. All the while, Zeus passed laws with the power of his sisters and Chiron that would affect all immortals. His primary purpose to ensure that he always had power over his brothers.

The teapot whistled stridently. Rapsodos took a moment to pause. He hooked the pot out of the fire and poured boiling water into two cups. Handing one to Percy, he warned, "These leaves don't need to steep for long, do drink quickly before it gets too strong." Percy, eager to get on with the tales of Rapsodos, took a gulp and scalded his tongue. Rapsodos set his own cup aside and continued smoking the pipe.

"No one knows exactly what it took for Hades and Poseidon to finally meet after ages of being apart. Some say that Poseidon vowed for an allegiance on the Styx. Others say there were many gifts, oaths, and political binds placed between the two finally lead to an alliance. Scholars still try to sift through fact and fiction but, in a world where the gods themselves are treated as myths, don't have the means to separate one from the other. Either way, both saw the value of joining hands and taking a more aggressive stance with Zeus. They nurtured their alliance and, in the custom of ancient tradition, swore to destroy Olympus on the River of Styx. Along with their oaths, they gave each other a tithes of priceless items to affirm their intentions towards the other.

"When Zeus made his oath to never sire demigods, he also realized that he needed to prevent others from doing so. He believed that if Poseidon and Hades learned of his oath, they would surely urge their children to take control over the mortal realm. In his rashness, he used the power of the Olympians to enforce a law in which he would have dominion over all the demigods.

"Both Hades and Poseidon were enraged that Zeus would try to take their family away. Thus, to greatly abbreviate a complicated series of unfortunate events, there was a very large and bloody war, which both sides called the Olympiamachy, literally, the Battle of the Olympians. At the beginning, Poseidon and Hades fought only to defend themselves, for they were reluctant to kill their own relatives, but the ferocity of Zeus eventually forced them to attack for their own survival. This lasted for five years and would have led to the defeat of Hades and Poseidon for Zeus gained ground for every child of his brothers he killed and again for each one of his that was spared.

"The powers of Poseidon and Hades combined, symbolizing the unity of the earth and the sea. This divine sign led to the creation of weapons infused with the essence of ichor. You see, Percy, each god had usurped his or her power from a Primordial, beings from before the time of Titans. To kill an immortal is a task that no mortal can undertake, and the only way to do so is to use the power of a greater entity. The only surviving remains beings greater than Olympians were the Primordials. Hades used the last remaining essences, as well as his own, to craft these weapons. These could only be used once, and that one time would be when they met their target on the field of battle. With that, I seem to have answered two of your questions."

"Yes," Percy said absently. "But the lesser immortals, and the Olympians. Surely not all of them were killed?"

"The reason why the Olympiamachy still remains such a mystery is that no human, Greek or otherwise, knows the end. We know all the battles that took place between the immortals, that Hestia was absent till the end, and that Hades and Poseidon were able to march to the throne room of Olympus. It is clear that most immortals lost their lives in the chaos created by the two. However, some did survive only to die to the sorrow in their hearts. But the Olympian Council… no one knows what happened to the Olympian Council.

_So the lesser immortals fell to the blades of Hades so it is likely that the Olympian Council did as well. After all, the world wouldn't be as terrible as it is if there were gods that still held power over the world._ "What happened to the Heroes, the children of a mortal and a god?"

Rapsodos stared at Percy. The Heroes were a rarely approached topic ever since Alexander was killed; it was another one of the forbidden topics. "No one knows. Either they went to the realms of Morpheus, living and dying in their dreams, or died a natural human death."

"What were the tithes that Hades and Poseidon gave to each other like?"

"Each and every bit of tithe gifted from one to the other was worth more than the entire city of Athens. Hides of monsters now lost to the ages, gems whose luster was beyond compare, and weapons that could cause much destruction. There have been rumors that some have resurfaced, but I doubt it. If they had, the Three Kings would have sent out their armies to sequester them."

Rapsodos had given him much to think about, and it was getting late. "Myron is probably done conducting business with the traders and Fergal will be looking for help in the inn. I should get going."

Rapsodos smiled. "What, no questions about the weapons of Hades? Battle tactics of the legions on each side? I half expected you to keep me stuck in here until he came looking for you."

"Not for now," Percy smiled. "I learned all I wanted to and more." Percy stepped into dawn and squinted at the sinking sun. He paced away, head full of plans to exploit the treasure in his room. _The stone may be one of the gifts. After all, how else can the Earth gift something to the Sea._


	8. Farewell for Now

The sun had set by the time dinner was served. A howling wind disturbed the peace but the bards were still outside performing some battles of the Olympiamachy. Percy closely eyed Fergal; he would be asking to go to the city… alone. _At the right moment of course_.

When he saw that Fergal had taken an exceptionally large bite, Percy took the chance. Finally: "Uncle, I would like to go to the city… to learn more about the stone."

Fergal carefully finished his mouthful of food, with deliberate slowness before laying down his fork. Percy's siblings watched, interested in Fergal's response; only Myron had been allowed to go to Naxos but not even he had gone beyond the inner city walls. Fergal laid back, interlaced his fingers behind his head, and spoke only one word, "Why?"

Percy explained that the stone wasn't doing the family good just sitting on his shelf and the town may provide a way to use the stone to better the family.

"I see," said Fergal, staring silently at the ceiling. No one dared to move, much less voice their opinions. "Well, when do you leave?"

"What?" exclaimed Percy along with all of his siblings.

Fergal leaned forward towards Percy, a twinkle in his eyes. "Did you think I would stop you? I'd hoped you would come forward and ask me permission before you went off on one of your reckless adventures." Jaws dropped.

"You knew about my-" squeaked Percy.

"Of course I did. But nothing I could say or do would stop you. Besides, this time your actions may actually benefit the family. So, when do you leave?"

Percy regained control of his voice. "With the traders when they leave for the harbor."

Fergal nodded. "And that would be in six days. We don't have much time to prepare, but we will make do. It will be different to have you missing from the house. But if nothing goes amiss, you won't be gone for long." He looked over the table. "Did any of you know of this?"

Everyone shrugged their shoulder. Myron started, "Not until today... it's madness."

Fergal ran a hand over his face. "It's his life's natural course." He pushed himself up, picking his plate and turning around. "All will be fine; time will settle everything. For now, let's do the dishes. His children helped him in silence.

The next few days were trying. Except for answering questions with brief responses, he spoke with no one after the twins dyed his hair pink. And have him a potion that made his voice very high. There were small reminders everywhere that Percy was leaving: Fergal making him a pack, things missing from the walls, and a strange emptiness that filled the house. It was almost a week before he realized that distance had grown between everyone and him. When they spoke, the words did not come easily and their conversations were uncomfortable.

Draco was a balm for Percy's frustration. He could talk freely with him; his emotions were completely open, and he understood him better than anyone else. During the days before Percy's departure, he had his first signs of a growth spurt. He had gained two inches over the first weeks of the summer and which was now as nearing the twins' height. He found that the small glen near the banks of the Nidaros where he thought a perfect place to sit. He often rested there in the evenings.

Percy's plan to let his family see the evolved stone or his theory was dispelled by their recently developed distant attitude.

He told himself to wait for a sign that it was the right time.

The night before Percy was to leave, Myron went to talk with him. He stalked down the hallway to Percy's open door. An oil lamp rested on a nightstand, painting the walls with warm flickering light. The bedposts cast elongated shadows on empty shelves that rose to the ceiling. Percy—his eyes shaded and the back of his neck tense—was rolling blankets around his clothes and belongings. He paused, then picked up something from the pillow and bounced it in his hand. It was a polished rock Myron had given him years ago. Percy started to tuck it into the bundle, then stopped and set it on a shelf. A hard lump formed in Myron's throat, and he left.

Fergal had gone to talk to Agaue and convinced him to take Percy to the town. The traders had their breakfast at the tavern, discussing any news that the villagers had not already heard. As they were finalizing all sales and packing their goods, Percy listened intently to the conversation and was relieved that were not even any rumors of his precious stone.

Breakfast was cold, but the tea was hot. Rain inside the windows had chilled the night but vanished with the morning sun. The water had soaked into the wood floor, staining it with dark puddles.

Percy looked at Fergal and Myron by the kitchen stove and reflected that this would be the last time he saw them for many months. Agaue had explained that he would take Percy and pay for all the costs only if Percy served as an apprentice till he returned with the traders the coming winter.

Percy sat in a chair, lacing his boots. His full pack rested on the floor next to him and Myron lingered a few feet away from him. Fergal stood between them with his hands stuck deep into his pockets. His shirt hung loosely; his skin looked drawn. Despite Percy's cajoling, he refused to go with him. When pressed for a reason, he only said that it was for the best.

"Do you have everything?" Fergal asked Percy.

"Yes."

He nodded and took a small pouch from his pocket. Coins clinked as he handed it to Percy. "I've been saving this for you. It isn't much, but if you wish to buy some bauble or trinket, it will suffice."

"Thank you, but I won't be spending my money on trifles," said Percy.

"Do what you will; it is yours," said Fergal. "I've nothing else to give you, except a father's blessing. Take it if you wish, but it is worth little."

Percy's voice was thick with emotion. "I would be honored to receive it."

"Then do, and go in peace," said Fergal, and kissed him on the forehead. He turned and said in a louder voice, "Heed my words for they will serve you well." He bent his gaze sternly on them. "First, let no one rule your mind or body. Take special care that your thoughts remain unfettered. One may be a free man and yet be bound tighter than a slave. Give men your ear, but not your heart. Show respect for those in power, but don't follow them blindly. Judge with logic and reason, but comment not.

"Consider none your superior, whatever their rank or station in life. Treat all fairly or they will seek revenge. Be careful with your money. Hold fast to your beliefs and others will listen." He continued at a slower pace, "Of the affairs of love… my only advice is to be honest. That's your most powerful tool to unlock a heart or gain forgiveness. That is all I have to say." He seemed slightly self-conscious of his speech.

He hoisted Percy's pack. "Now you must go. Dawn is approaching, and Agaue will be waiting."

Percy shouldered the pack and hugged Fergal. "I will return as soon as I can," he said.

"Good!" replied Fergal. "But now go and don't worry about us."

The brothers parted reluctantly. Myron and Percy went outside, then turned and waved. Fergal raised a hand, his eyes grave, and watched as they trudged to the road. After a long moment he shut the door. As the sound carried through the morning air, Myron halted.

Percy looked back and surveyed the land. His eyes lingered on the lone buildings. They looked pitifully small and fragile. A few thin strands of smoke trailing up from the village houses were the only proof that farms were inhabited.

"There is our whole world," Myron observed somberly.

Percy shivered and whispered, "A good one too." Myron nodded, then Percy straightened his shoulders and headed into his new future. The house disappeared from view as he descended the hill towards the camp of traders up the trail.

The trail, now a road, had grown steadily worse over the past few days. Wagon wheels and horses' hooves had conspired to tear up the ground, greatly extending the length of the journey.

For days, the traders continued along the banks of the Nidaros. Percy started to wonder if he would ever make it to the city and, if he did, would he be able to come back. It heartened him to finally hear that Naxos City was only a few kilometers away.

The road had become clogged with villagers taking their surplus crops to the markets for money. The traders were forced to slow their caravan and wait for the people that blocked their way.

Although they saw the smoke from the city at noon, it took till afternoon for the city to be completely visible. Unlike Apollonas, a planned and small village, Naxos was an urban tangled mess that sprawled on the shore of the Nidaros and the beach of the Mediterranean. Rundown buildings sat on crooked streets, and the heart of the city near the sea was surrounded by a dirty yellow wall of caked mud.

Several miles east, a mountain of bare rock speared the sky with spires and columns, forming cliffs of white rock. Nearly vertical sides rose out of the ground like a jagged piece of the island's bones.

Agaue pointed. "That is Mt. Zas. It's the reason Naxos was originally built. People are fascinated by it, and mine the marble to sell to Athens." He gestured at the buildings inside the city's wall. "We should go to the center of the city first."

As they crept along the road to Naxos, Percy saw that the highest building within the city was a cathedral that loomed behind the walls. It was strikingly similar to Mt. Zas, especially when its arches and spires caught the sunlight. "Who do they worship?" he asked.

Agaue's lips quirked upwards. "That used to be the premier temple for the king of gods, Zeus. It's now the home for the Duke of Naxos. One could call him a tyrant: he drains the money and life of his citizens for the beauty of that palace. As white as it is right now, it should be the color of the sweat, blood and tears that actually build that palace. "

"That's horrible," said Percy, shuddering.

"Yes," said Agaue grimly, "but don't say that to his soldiers. You'll quickly lose a hand in 'penance.'"

At Naxos' enormous gates, they led the horses through the crush of people. Seven soldiers were stationed on either side of the gates, casually scanning the crowd.

The houses inside the city wall were tall and thin to compensate for the lack of space. Those next to the wall were braced against it. Those that didn't hung precariously over the narrow, winding streets, covering the sky so that it was hard to tell if it was night or day. Nearly all the buildings were constructed of the same rough brown wood, which darkened the city even more. The air reeked like a sewer; the streets were filthy.

A group of ragged children ran between the houses, fighting over scraps of bread. Deformed beggars crouched next to the entrance gates, pleading for money. Their cries for help were like a chorus of the damned. _We don't even treat animals like this_. "I won't stay here," Percy said, rebelling against the sight.

"It gets better farther in," sighed Agaue. "Right now we need to find an inn and form a strategy to seek information. Naxos can be a dangerous place to even the most cautious. I don't want to remain on the streets any longer than necessary."

They forged deeper into Naxos, leaving the squalid entrance behind. As they entered wealthier parts of the city. _How can these people live in ease when the suffering around them is so obvious?_

They found lodging at _The Boyer Pub_, which was owned by the Boyers who had been old friends of Agaue. Two beds were pushed to either side of the room, with a complete study and a full rack of locked dressers in the middle; a basin was near the entrance and both washed their faces in it. Percy took one look at the beds and said, "I'm sleeping on the left one. There you can catch a glimpse of the sea through the window."

"What now?" Percy asked.

"We find food and drink. After that, sleep. This pub attracts heralds at night and we can gather information there." Before they left the room, Agaue warned, "No matter what happens, make sure to watch your tongue. It would be much easier if you didn't have to worry about a thief going after that stone."


End file.
